ought, was about to take his leave, when
Fouquet, rising, took a glass of wine, and ordered one to be given to
D'Artagnan.

"Monsieur," said he, "to the health of the king, _whatever may happen_."

"And to your health, monseigneur, _whatever may happen_," said
D'Artagnan.

He bowed, with these words of evil omen, to all the company, who rose as
soon as they heard the sound of his spurs and boots at the bottom of the
stairs.

"I, for a moment, thought it was I and not my money he wanted," said
Fouquet, endeavoring to laugh.

"You!" cried his friends; "and what for, in the name of Heaven!"

"Oh! do not deceive yourselves, my dear brothers in Epicurus," said the
superintendent; "I do not wish to make a comparison between the most
humble sinner on the earth, and the God we adore, but remember, he gave
one day to his friends a repast which is called the Last Supper, and
which was nothing but a farewell dinner, like that which we are making
at this moment."

A painful cry of denial arose from all parts of the table. "Shut the
doors," said Fouquet, and the servants disappeared. "My friends,"
continued Fouquet, lowering his voice, "what was I formerly? What am
I now? Consult among yourselves and reply. A man like me sinks when
he does not continue to rise. What shall we say, then, when he really
sinks? I have no more money, no more credit; I have no longer anything
but powerful enemies, and powerless friends."

"Quick!" cried Pelisson. "Since you explain yourself with such
frankness, it is our duty to be frank, likewise. Yes, you are
ruined--yes, you are hastening to your ruin--stop. And, in the first
place, what money have we left?"

"Seven hundred thousand livres," said the intendant.

"Bread," murmured Madame Fouquet.

"Relays," said Pelisson, "relays, and fly!"

"Whither?"

"To Switzerland--to Savoy--but fly!"

"If monseigneur flies," said Madame Belliere, "it will be said that he
was guilty--was afraid."

"More than that, it will be said that I have carried away twenty
millions with me."

"We will draw up memoirs to justify you," said La Fontaine. "Fly!"

"I will remain," said Fouquet. "And, besides, does not everything serve
me?"

"You have Belle-Isle," cried the Abbe Fouquet.

"And I am naturally going there, when going to Nantes," replied the
superintendent. "Patience, then, patience!"

"Before arriving at Nantes, what a distance!" said Madame Fouquet.

"Yes, I know that well," replied Fouqu